


Brown Paper Packages

by kuonji



Series: Beginnings And Endings [8]
Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Friendship, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-15
Updated: 2012-09-15
Packaged: 2017-11-14 08:21:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/513227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuonji/pseuds/kuonji
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Third of The Angel Stories.</p><p>These are a few of my favorite things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brown Paper Packages

**Author's Note:**

> Alternative Links:  
> <http://starskyhutch911.livejournal.com/641248.html>  
> <http://kuonji14.livejournal.com/43592.html>

"What's this?" Starsky scooped the package off the floor and, catching it, twirled it on the end of a finger like a miniature basketball.

Hutch stole it out of his hands and tucked it under one arm before opening his front door. "Sylvie said she was going to send me a sample. This must be it."

Sylvia Holt nee Hutchinson still worked as a clerk for their parents' shipping company back East. Her husband's family owned a collection of retail stores, for which Corsair Shipping supplied the majority of their wares. Starsky wasn't sure of the details, but he thought that was how Hutch's sister had met her beau, Stuart.

In any case, she delighted in sending her little brother various odd and ends of samples and surpluses. They ranged from cheap children's guitar picks with Tom and Jerry stamped on them, to nice cologne at half off the retail price, to a pair of silver-plated candlesticks only slightly scratched. The sun and moon necklace that Hutch wore all the time had also been a gift from his sister.

Occasionally, she sent Hutch samples of a new product to try out and review with his friends. Starsky had helped test various cookware, toys, and exercise equipment, and on one memorable occasion that almost ended in the emergency room -- a pair of roller skates. Some of it Hutch could keep. Some of the more expensive stuff had to be sent back afterwards. Either way, Starsky always got a giddy feeling of Christmas when one of those special packages arrived.

"Don't get too excited," Hutch warned him, as he led the way inside and dumped the package as well as a small pile of mail on the coffee table. "I think she said something about jewelry."

That was less exciting than usual, but Starsky's curiosity was still piqued. "Let's see it." He opened Hutch's fridge and, failing to find any soda or beer, closed it again and went for a glass of water instead. He chugged it down at the sink. Hutch was at the couch, sawing through the string with the teeth of his keys, apparently too impatient to go get a pair of scissors for the job. Despite his cool demeanor, he always liked these packages too.

The brown paper came away with a crinkle, revealing a small, flat velvet jewelry box. Hutch whistled. "Didn't know Stuart was getting into high-price stuff like this," he chuckled, glancing at the cherub statue in front of him before sharing a look with Starsky.

Starsky snorted. "Maybe they sent the wrong box." He finished his glass of water and, placing it in the sink, came over to join his friend.

He watched eagerly as Hutch opened the deep blue box with gold hinges. They both whistled this time. "Maybe they did," Hutch said, with the laughter gone from his voice. He picked up the thick gold chain bracelet. The weight of it dragged the lower links down as he lifted. He turned it back and forth for both of them to stare at.

It was a perfect glowing gold and made up of flat, slightly ovaloid pieces. Simple but stylish. Classy without being extravagant. Hutch cleared his throat. "It's, uh, nice. Good workmanship. Excellent design. I'll tell Sylvie they picked a good supplier." He looked around. "Is there a note or something...? I've got to return this."

A check of the brown paper wrapping revealed no return address, which was odd, but Starsky spotted a piece of what looked like letterpaper that had gotten stuck inside of a fold. He picked it out and opened it. "Hey, this might..." His voice trailed off as he glanced at the contents. He felt the hairs on his neck stand on end, and his scalp suddenly prickled with sweat. "Holy fuck," he swore under his breath. "Hutch-- Shit, don't!" he yelled, as he looked up.

Apparently unable to resist, Hutch had laid the bracelet across his wrist and was trying to do up the clasp one-handed. The piece was beautiful against his skin. "It's pretty small," he was muttering, frowning down at the thing. "Is this meant for a kid...?"

Starsky snatched up the chain -- it was warm, as if it had already sucked away part of Hutch's life like a snake -- and hurled it as hard as he could across the room. It impacted against the far wall with a sharp crack and clattered to the floor in a pile of winking metal. Starsky was breathing hard.

Hutch stared at him, open-mouthed. Then he seemed to get his wits back about him. "What the _hell_ is wrong with you? What if you broke it?" He jumped to his feet, as if to go after the bracelet, but Starsky headed him off.

"If I didn't, I'm going to," he declared gruffly. He all but threw the letter at his partner before stalking away. First stopping to collect a plastic bag from Hutch's drawer, he went to squat down beside the shed bracelet. He picked it up gingerly, slung it in the bag, then tied the mouth with a double knot -- just as if he actually expected the thing to wriggle up and bite him.

Hutch watched his performance silently, clearly shocked.

Starsky tossed the bag on the kitchen counter and pointed at the letter, apparently forgotten in Hutch's hands. "Read it," he spat. Frowning, Hutch lowered his eyes to the paper.

The frown deepened for a moment, shoving his broad forehead into furrowed valleys. Then they smoothed out all of a sudden as his eyes widened, and he took a quick, in-drawn breath.

"Oh..." was all he said.

In two steps, Starsky was at his side, all worry. Hutch's face had gone blank. Staring. And pale. Starsky had been so wrapped up in barely controlled rage that he hadn't properly thought through how Hutch might react. "Do you... need to sit down?" he asked awkwardly, already regretting his explosiveness.

Hutch jerked, as if coming awake. "No, I..." After only a brief glance at Starsky's face, his gaze returned riveted to the letter. Lifting a hand, he touched the lettering. The slow, almost reverent, action made Starsky sick.

"Want to give that to me?" Starsky offered.

This time, Hutch jerked the paper towards himself, as if to protect it. "What?" he exclaimed. Then his face flushed red. "You read it." There was no need to ask. He'd seen Starsky pick up the note. His expression went from chagrin to anger. "You shouldn't have, damn you. You had no right. It was my _private mail_. This is... Why did you have to go and... and..." Shaking, he turned the paper sideways and tore it in half. The heavy paper stock made a sound like ripping cloth.

Hutch tore the remainders in half again. Then again. Then set on the smaller pieces-- continuing until there was beige confetti with blue accents littering the floor and the surface of the coffee table.

Starsky didn't dare breathe a word.

Raising his head finally, Hutch speared Starsky with a burning glare. "You should go," he said curtly. Without waiting for any acknowledgement, he turned and prowled into the greenhouse area, letting the door bang behind him.

Starsky hesitated for long moments before he quietly knelt down in place and started collecting the scraps of paper together. Once he had them in a pile, he backed away, unsure. He might risk Hutch's wrath again if he threw them in the trash -- but damned if he wanted to leave the remnants of that poisonous note out in the open.

Finally, he got another bag and scooped the pieces in. Just touching them made him feel dirty. He could still see the sleek fountain-penned lines in his head:

_I've been thinking about you ever since we met last time. You were always my favorite._

No signature. But it didn't need one.

Even after all these years, the Bastard still wanted to chain Hutch to him.

Jaw clenched, Starsky dropped the second bag next to the first. Then, staring toward the greenhouse, he hesitated again.

"Screw it," he muttered, and headed inside.

Hutch was lying face-down on the brass bed, his arms at his sides, his face turned toward the windows. His body made a long, painfully vertical line along the white mattress. Starsky was careful to make noise as he entered. When Hutch made no movement, he sat on the bed next to his hip.

"Hey," he said gently.

Hutch grunted in reply.

"Mind if I join you?"

Hutch grunted again, but he shifted over to the far edge so that Starsky could squeeze next to him, their shoulders touching.

After a while of staring at the rafters, Starsky turned and gathered his best friend in. Hutch made a sound like he was irritated, but he came easily enough. Starsky closed his eyes as he buried his nose in the back of Hutch's neck. "Hey," he said again.

Hutch's diaphragm jerked under where his fingers rested, but he didn't say anything.

Somewhere a clock ticked away the seconds as they lay there, just feeling each other's closeness.

Evening darkened the room, but Starsky didn't move.

"I don't blame you if you're disgusted with me."

Hutch's voice was so normal -- as if he were stating what day of the week it was -- that it took a moment to understand him. And even then, the meaning of his words was incomprehensible. Oh, there were plenty of things about his partner that did disgust him -- Hutch's 'health' shakes, his propensity for being right, the dump that was the back seat of what he called his car... But Starsky was at a loss to explain what was going through Hutch's head now.

"Why d'ya say that?"

"It's not your fault. I'm pretty disgusted at myself."

"No! I mean, why do you think I would be?" He tried not to sound demanding, but Hutch turned his face into the mattress defensively.

"I can't help still caring what he thinks of me."

There wasn't a good way to answer that, so Starsky didn't even try. He wanted to get mad. Why _did_ Hutch still care? Hadn't the Bastard hurt him enough yet? And for that matter, hadn't Starsky proved over and over again that he could never fault Hutch for anything connected to this? Why couldn't Hutch _trust_ him? But he just felt tired. "I'm not disgusted," he repeated.

It seemed to be the right thing to say. Hutch melted that last few inches, feeling more heavily secure against Starsky's chest. "Do you think he meant what he said?" he asked, clearly trying to sound merely curious.

Starsky sighed. He didn't have the heart to say, I doubt it. As far as Starsky could guess, it was all just a line. At most, a temporary obsession. But, "Who knows?" was what he answered.

Maybe the Bastard _had_ been thinking about Hutch. Maybe he actually considered Hutch special. After all, Hutch was... beautiful. Perfect in the ways that counted. Maybe even someone with a rotten, perverted heart could have enough of a glimmer of perception to recognize something that good. "Do you want him to?" he asked, with some trepidation.

Hutch shook his head, his hair tickling Starsky's nose. "I don't know if it makes it better or worse if he does." He made an impatient sound, at odds with his relaxed body. "Doesn't he have anything better to do, for god's sake? Had to screw up my week." His tone lacked full confidence, but Starsky was surprised enough by the words alone.

"Damn asshole," Starsky ventured to add.

"Yeah." Again, Hutch didn't sound quite sure of himself, but Starsky still felt a jolt of something like pride.

"The bastard better not mess with the long weekend coming up."

"That's right." Starsky smiled at the vehemence. "Hey, how do you think he found out my address?" Hutch sounded sharper now, more alert.

Starsky winced. "There's ways, I guess. Private eyes. Hell, the phone book. Maybe he asked your folks. Do they know him?"

"They might. He was at the company party, after all."

"You could ask them."

"I could." Hutch's tone said he wasn't planning on doing any such thing.

Starsky suppressed a sigh. "Just... don't open any more packages with no labels on 'em, okay?"

"I'll take care of it," Hutch snapped, stiffening, and Starsky knew he'd pushed too far. It took a few moments for Hutch to unbend. "Anyway, I think he's done with me," he said. "He was just writing to a memory. Some sudden fit of nostalgia for a picture in his head."

Hutch turned around, jostling them both in the narrow space, until he was looking Starsky in the eye from just a few inches away. Starsky thought for a moment that his partner was about to direct his temper at him again. But instead, he put a hand to Starsky's cheek, then slid it down Starsky's neck, and into the V of his opened shirt, stopping with his bare palm over Starsky's chest.

Starsky felt a quiver of not-quite-fear at the intimate gesture. Hutch did that all the time, he abruptly realized -- touched other men's necks and stomachs and thighs. It wasn't normal, was it? Had he learned that from...? Had he been _taught_...?

But Hutch's eyes weren't troubled at all. The clearness in them was astounding.

"I feel safe with you," he imparted, with an air of a confession.

Starsky thought about those big long arms around him when he was sick, or hungover, or wounded, or grieving. He remembered another set of arms that had used to pick him up and hold him close against a broad, beard-bristled face. He put his hand on top of Hutch's and cleared his throat. "Me, too," he answered in kind. "Me, too."

He felt his heartbeat inside the hollow of Hutch's hand for perhaps a hundred beats -- Hutch's eyes staring into his -- before Hutch turned unhurriedly to lie face-up. He pillowed his head with his right hand. "Who do you think will win the Series this year?" he asked.

***

They talked about inconsequential subjects -- football after baseball, hockey after that, bass fishing, followed by a segue into something called 'bed racing'. Then they discussed Huggy's menu, and Dobey's wardrobe, Molly's slightly disturbing new interest in comic books and Kiko's altogether disturbing new interest in skydiving.

Starsky woke up sometime in the cool, hazy pre-dawn with Hutch gone. When he searched in the living room, he saw that the plastic bags, and the brown packaging paper and string, had disappeared as well. He sat up until Hutch returned in jogging clothes, apparently exhausted, and communicative only with a scowl-inducing pat on Starsky's head and a gentle, knowing smile.

It was enough.

***

Four days later, Starsky got a phone call.

"Guess what?" were the first words, with no introduction or preamble.

Starsky set down his bag of groceries and answered, "You won the lotto and you're taking me and Ma to the Bahamas?" He put the phone cord over his shoulder so he could put away the milk and celery.

"No, dummy. Sylvie sent me half a dozen sunglasses."

"Sunglasses?" He kicked the refrigerator door closed.

"With fake rhinestones and _glitter_. Oh god, you have to come see them!"

Starsky was grinning and digging his keys back out already. "I'll be there in fifteen."

"You think we can switch out the pair in Dobey's front pocket?"

The grin opened into a chuckle. He started spinning ways in his head to distract their boss, or to get him to take his jacket off for just a little while... "We'll think of something, partner."

Hutch's answering chuckle echoed back across the line. "We always do."

  
END.

**Author's Note:**

> _For B, who never fails to make me laugh._
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> [Beginnings And Endings Index](http://kuonji14.livejournal.com/34137.html)
> 
> * * *
> 
>   
> If you enjoyed this story, you might try these:    
>      [Pretense](http://community.livejournal.com/starskyhutch911/421647.html) (Starsky & Hutch), by kuonji  
>      [20/20](http://kuonji14.livejournal.com/13801.html) (Stargate SG-1), by kuonji  
>      [The Rest Of Forever](http://starskyhutch911.livejournal.com/549549.html) (Starsky & Hutch), by Anxious Alien  
>      [Edge Of Snow](http://arrow00.livejournal.com/2916.html) (Due South), by Arrow  
>  


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